She gets behind
a frozen waterfall
to admire the curtain of blue ice
from a safe distance in a cave.
I get an inflatable Babe
the Blue Ox wearing a leather helmet
with flannel-shirted Paul Bunyan
wielding an axe and a football.
His tongue may be sticking out—
who can tell.
She gets a corner booth
in the shade.
I get the unforgiving winter
morning sun in my eyes.
She gets everything
before the city turns snow banks
the color of a canvas tote
after too many trips to the market.
I get to be a drop of dirty water
with so many stories left to tell.